


I Won't Break, Draco

by Abradystrix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abradystrix/pseuds/Abradystrix
Summary: Draco has lived a small and disconnected life since the war.Astoria Greengrass is changing that.





	I Won't Break, Draco

It's not that he's lonely, as such. He's been lonely for so long that it's nothing new. 

 

It's that there's a bit of him that doesn't want to be anymore. And he has no idea how to deal with that.

 

Each day in the Prophet a new headline, a new photograph of Granger and Potter entwined with their respective Weasley; trying and failing to evade the press. He doesn't even feel angry: observing their linked hands, soft kisses and gentle intimacy, he simply feels a disconnection.

 

He likes Astoria Greengrass. He likes her a lot. He likes that his heart beats faster when she's there, that she makes him feel the blood hot in his veins in a way he hasn't felt in years. He likes the way her dark hair falls over her shoulder. He likes her laugh. He likes the smell of peppermints that follows her around. 

 

Right now, he does not like that he can’t sleep. He kicks the blanket to one side and stares at the ceiling, thinking about the shine of her hair and the glint in her eye when they parted that night. He thinks of the chaste kiss on the cheek that he offered her, and the way that her skin felt pleasantly soft and warm under his lips. He thinks about that moment where he hesitated, willing himself to turn his head to the right and catch her lips in his.

 

Then he had remembered who he was, what he had done, and all of the reasons why this was not for him.

 

He is Draco Malfoy. He has done terrible things. He has watched terrible things happen and curled away from them with all the conviction of a wet Kneazle. He didn't choose the winning side so much as stumble onto it, in a haze of confusion, battle scars, and moments of clarity. His name is mud, his poor choices are public knowledge, and his Ministry pardon is as worthless as the parchment it's written on.

 

_ But, _ says the voice at the back of his head,  _ she doesn't seem to mind. She didn't mind when you asked her to dinner... or when you took her hand. She didn't mind your awkwardness or your attempts at conversation. She even laughed. _

 

It's too hot in his room. He feels suffocated and kicks the blanket off the bed entirely. He is wearing only a pair of silk boxer shorts and yet his skin is on fire. There's a tugging in his belly that he recognises but he will not let himself succumb to it, not now, not yet. 

 

For the past year, Draco has lived a small existence, painfully aware of his reputation and his inherent failure. He has taken to total seclusion, poring over books and manuscripts, ignoring any gnawing desire for human contact. While not celibate, per se, he has reduced his ministrations to a perfunctory reflex, like scratching an itch. The same disconnect he feels looking at other couples seems to pervade his own desires.

 

But there is something about her that has kindled a spark deep inside of him. An ache in his stomach that terrifies and excites him all at once. Somewhere beneath his shame and hollowness, she has carved into his heart an intoxicating need to be near to her, to touch her, to kiss her and be with her as one. And yet he cannot let himself, because he knows she deserves better.

 

He hasn't realised that he is absently stroking himself through the soft silk. Startled, he stops, conscious of the undeserved pleasure he has yet to experience. He bites his lip, and for the first time in a long time, puts the shame and the guilt to one side. He closes his eyes and thinks only of Astoria and her soft skin, and the things her lips could do.

 

Later as he drifts off, sweat cooling on his body, he wonders absently if she tastes of peppermints.

 

***

 

How they got onto the bed is a mystery. As Draco feels his necktie being tugged away and the top button of his shirt being undone, he is certain that he cannot remember anything before this exact moment, in which Astoria is sitting across his lap, her dress riding up around her perfect, pale thighs, long fingers working nimbly to remove his clothing, gently kissing the thrumming pulse of his neck. He buries his face into her hair, inhaling the very scent of her, and allows his hand to gently coax one of her dress straps down over her shoulder. Their lips meet and they kiss, explorative, teasing. She leans into him and they fall gently backwards. Draco wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her even more deeply. She shifts so that she is lying beside him and pulls away, looking directly into his eyes, cheeks flushed pink and eyes ablaze.

 

'Hello,' she says, smiling wickedly.

 

'Hello,' he responds, utterly captivated by her. She traces her hand down his exposed chest and runs a solitary index finger from his navel to his belt. His heart is thumping in his chest and he can barely articulate.

 

'Astoria I... You... Your health,' he stutters, trying to find any kind of words to explain the reasons why this can't and shouldn't happen, even though every nerve in his body is screaming in disagreement.

 

She looks him straight in the eye and starts to unbuckle his belt. Her gaze is determined, and her touch is the most divine thing Draco Malfoy has ever felt in his whole sorry life.

 

'I won't break, Draco,' she says firmly, and he has never wanted to believe anything more.

 

It is not the first time for him. In the immediate post-war days there was a dark and drunken night where Pansy had appeared on his doorstep and he had tried in vain to feel something, anything. It had been wretched, and she had left before morning. He had resigned himself to his future as a lonely, broken man.

 

But as Astoria gently removes his clothing, and as she lets him pull her dress over her head, tousling her hair and revealing an exquisite silk slip, he feels anything but broken. He feels alive. He kisses her fervently, running his hands up and down the sides of her body. He feels the curve of her hip and the swell of her breast and his mind is flooded with sensation so vivid that he fears he might pass out. She lies back and ever so gently opens her legs, pulling him into a deep kiss. Her hands clasp his face and she whispers very clearly. 'you can touch me, you know.'

 

She tilts her head back, eyes closing as Draco's pale hands lift her hem, and his hand drifts up her inner thigh. He wonders if she can tell that he is shaking. When at last his fingers brush her soft hair and slick wetness, they both gasp. Staring at her in wonder, he presses his forehead to hers and they kiss again.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

And soon she is astride him, and he is resting back on the headboard, and there is nothing in the world between them. Her hands are in his hair, her legs around his waist and Draco holds onto her as though she is the most important thing in the world because he knows now that she is. Her body moving against his, his body moving inside her is everything and the sweet ache of pleasure that is building inside of him, raw in his throat and bursting from his core, is utterly, uniquely hers. He feels her contract and gasp and it sends him over the edge. 

 

He cries out, visceral. She drops her head onto his shoulder, gently kissing his collarbone and murmuring his name. Shaking, he strokes her hair, kissing the top of her head and inhaling the sweet, intoxicating smell of peppermint.

 

He is definitely not lonely anymore.

 


End file.
